The night was portentous. All nature conspired to make it prophetic of some direful event. The sympathy of the natural with the historic event was known and felt. Ominous of evil, a furious storm had set in. It was one of the periodical snow storms for which the season had been remarkable. Every Saturday throughout the month it had returned, the same fearful blast and fall of snow. As if in warning, it had come three or four times during the season, and now with redoubled force appeared. The snow had fallen all day long, and was, at the dusk of night, still falling with blinding fury. The powers of nature had seized it again, and were hurling it down as if in very vengeance against the abodes of men. Everything was covered with a weight of snow. The wreaths and fancy drapery which, during the first storm, had engaged the attention of children, and pleased the fancy with their forms of beauty and delicate tracery, had now increased until they were heavy blankets and burdensome loads. The feathery flakes, which at first were beds of down, had become solid banks. Everything was buried in the increasing drifts, even trees and houses and fences stood with muffled forms and burdened with a snowy mantle. The streets were covered with drifts which were piled high and wide. No attempt had been made to break the roads. The citizens had, for the third time, confined themselves to their houses, and had not even opened the paths from the doors to the gates. It was, in fact, one of those blinding, burying storms which occasionally come upon northern homes. The greatest comfort was in being at home and having the consciousness of the home feeling. Even the cares of the world were shut out, and many had remained in doors refusing to be called from the loved circle and comfortable fire. Those who were well housed felt a pleasure in their own security, and often looked out, grateful for the shelter of their homes. But to the traveler it was a fearful storm. The same clouds which filled the sky with their fleecy masses, became portentous to his gaze. As the dusk of night settled down with more fury in the storm, a fearful foreboding filled his heart. There were many who were impressed with this indefinable sense of danger. It was not because they felt the discomfort of the journey, nor because they unconsciously acknowledged the difficulty of the way, but a strange presentiment continually haunted them and filled them with indefinable fear. Brave hearts sank within many, as the strange feeling came over them, that there was danger in the air. It was like a pall to the soul. It rested heavily upon the spirits. Stout men had to reason with themselves to nerve themselves to undertake the journey.